


Time Out

by veronamay



Category: Doctor Who: Eighth Doctor Adventures - Various Authors
Genre: Drunkenness, Early Work, Fluff, M/M, Not Beta Read, Plot What Plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2003-04-29
Updated: 2003-04-29
Packaged: 2017-10-30 13:54:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,734
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/332459
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/veronamay/pseuds/veronamay
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He fell backwards onto the bed, limbs akimbo, and as the Doctor looked down at him he had the feeling he was definitely missing <i>something</i>.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Time Out

**Author's Note:**

> This will make little sense unless you've read "Time Zero" by Justin Richards. But don't let that stop you. Unbeta'ed; read at your own risk.

"Doctor, why is the floor moving?"

The Doctor looked at Fitz and stifled a laugh. There was a frown on his companion's face as he gazed at the wooden floorboards of the hostelry, and he was weaving slightly in his seat.

"It's not. You are." He reached over and steadied him, gripping his shoulder to keep him upright. Fitz blinked in the dimness of the lamp-lit room, and his frown deepened.

"What time is it?" he asked.

The Doctor checked his pocket-watch. "Nearly two o'clock. You should get to bed. You need your rest. And George will wake up miserable if we leave him there any longer."

They both looked at George Williamson, face down and snoring, with that peculiar superiority that comes from drinking someone under the table. Or into it, in this case. The Doctor was used to the feeling; he'd done it more times than he could remember, and the local rotgut was easy enough to handle even without trying to metabolise it. Fitz, from the look on his face, was rather thrilled that he was still conscious.

"We should move him upstairs," Fitz agreed. He was speaking clearly, a sign that he was very, very drunk. The Doctor thought of the three flights of stairs that lay between here and their rooms, and asked himself again why he'd acquiesced to a drinking contest. Oh, yes -- Fitz's suggestion, of course, after watching him drink down several beakersful without a pause. Silly boy -- he should know better than that by now.

The Doctor stood up and, with Fitz's stumbling help, heaved George over his shoulder and headed for the door. Fitz was bowing to everyone as they made their undignified exit, inciting a round of applause from the other patrons. The Doctor suspected he'd be collecting coins if the idea had occurred to him.

"Nice lot of blokes, they are," Fitz confided to him on the stairs. "Very appreciative of a good show."

The Doctor tried to turn and look at him. "What sort of show? The ability to get broke and inebriated in less than four hours is hardly -- Oops, grab his legs, he's slipping."

"Got him." Fitz rearranged the offending limbs over the Doctor's shoulder.

"Thank you. Third floor, you said?"

"Yeah. But you were the show, Doctor, not us," Fitz went on. "Must've been twenty glasses if it was one, and you're nowhere near foxed. That's legendary. They'll be talking about you for months, if not years." He sounded almost proud, which was utterly ridiculous.

The Doctor carried on past the second landing without pausing. "How absurd. Judging a man's worth by the amount he can drink -- where's the sense in that? What on earth would that say about George here, if we were to take it seriously?"

Fitz coughed. "Well, I didn't say it was a _good_ system, did I?" But he sounded pleased nonetheless. The Doctor hefted George's weight again and didn't reply -- not because he was out of breath, he told himself. He was just ... maintaining an air of mystery for Fitz's sake. It would be a shame to have to tell him how much that liquor had been watered down.

The third-floor hallway was narrow and unlit. Fitz squeezed around the Doctor and led the way to George's room, tripping on a raised floorboard as he went. He rummaged in George's coat for the key, ducking inside to light a lamp. The Doctor followed and laid his burden on the bed, where it mumbled and curled up into a ball, continuing to snore like a chainsaw. The Doctor threw a blanket over him and winced in sympathy for the headache he'd suffer in the morning.

"Right," he said, dusting off his hands. "One down. That just leaves you."

Fitz stood up straight -- well, straighter, anyway. "I'm fine. I could go another few rounds, if you like."

"I think not," the Doctor said firmly. "You can't afford to drink yourself into oblivion like this, Fitz. You have to prepare yourself for the expedition, and you have a job to do, remember?"

"Job? What job -- oh, right. Save the universe. Got it." Fitz grinned. "See? I'm up for it, Doctor, have no fear."

He forebore to comment on that. "Come on. You'll freeze if you don't get into a warm bed soon. That alcoholic glow will wear off rather quickly in this temperature."

Fitz followed him outside and locked the door. "Where's your room?" the Doctor asked.

"Here." Fitz went across the hall and fumbled for his own key. The room was colder than George's, and he could hear Fitz's teeth already beginning to chatter.

"What does it take to get you drunk?" Fitz said suddenly. He cocked his head to the side like an inquisitive dog. "More than ordinary alcohol, I'd bet."

"You'd win. I don't really know," the Doctor admitted. "I must have been drunk at some point, but I don't remember anything about it. I think I'm glad of that -- especially the hangover part. About six hours from now you're going to feel absolutely horrible, you know."

Fitz grinned again. "Ah, but right now I feel bloody marvellous. You don't know what you're missing, Doctor."

He fell backwards onto the bed, limbs akimbo, and as the Doctor looked down at him he had the feeling he was definitely missing _something_. It wasn't alcohol, though.

"I could have been drunk," he said. "Before, when Sabbath ..."

Fitz sat up, his smile dimmed. He shivered -- or was that a shudder? The Doctor couldn't tell.

"Not really the ideal time for it, though," murmured Fitz. "And a horrible cliche, too -- drinking after losing your heart? I don't think so. And now you're back to normal -- when did that happen, by the way? You never told us -- now that you're normal again, you can't get drunk. Oh, the irony. The tragedy. The horror!" He fell back on the bed again, a hand on his forehead.

The Doctor chuckled and turned to leave. "You sound like a bad radio drama. Get some sleep, Fitz."

"Come and tuck me in."

He stopped moving. Fitz remained on the bed, his teeth still chattering away.

"I should go. I really haven't the time."

"Bollocks," Fitz said, and he heard the sound of rustling sheets. "Come here."

"You need to sleep," argued the Doctor, turning around despite himself.

"Not tired."

"It's too dangerous, Fitz."

"Who's going to know?"

"There's ..." the Doctor began. Fitz lifted his head and glared at him.

"Doctor, get your alien backside over here and keep me warm. It's the least you can do after letting me get this sloshed in the first place."

Put like that, how could he possibly resist?

"Oh, my _God_ , your feet are cold!" Fitz yelped a minute later. The Doctor gave him something which shut him up rather effectively, and hissed in pleasure at the result. That was Fitz; talkative to the end unless he was sufficiently distracted. At least he knew better than to talk with his mouth full.

"Hmmm," the Doctor breathed, arching up. Not a silly boy -- not a boy at all, now. No, Fitz was a man who knew what he was doing. And he did it oh ... so ... very ... well.

"Still cold?" he managed to ask a while later.

Fitz's breath was warm on the back of his neck, his weight heavy. He smelled of sweat and bad vodka. "Hot. Very hot. Oh God, that's so good ..."

The Doctor agreed, but he was out of breath again and couldn't find an air of mystery to save himself. Sometimes he forgot just how clever Fitz was with his hands; then at times like this, he was forcefully reminded, usually right before he--

Oh, _yes_.

Recovery was slow, as always. He guessed that Fitz had gone to sleep. Just as well; it was past time for him to go. There were too many things awaiting his attention. He couldn't afford to be sidetracked like this any longer. But he rarely felt this peaceful, and Fitz had been gone for so long -- and, well, he'd never claimed to be a saint, had he? Couldn't he take a bit of time for himself once in a while?

It didn't wash. He couldn't stay. The universe was waiting to be saved -- again. He was beginning to get tired of that.

"Leaving so soon?" said Fitz, opening his eyes. He stretched his lanky body to its full length, brushing against the Doctor in a dozen places.

"I have to," the Doctor said. "I've stayed far too long as it is. And don't even think about arguing with me."

"Wasn't going to," Fitz said.

The Doctor looked at Fitz's hand on his thigh and raised an eyebrow. Fitz shrugged and grinned at him.

"Worth a try, right?"

"It was. But I can't, Fitz." He slid out of the bed and began to dress. Fitz watched him, snuggled under the blankets against the chill of the room. He still looked a bit tipsy, the Doctor thought, but he should be none the worse in the morning. Physical activity was the best cure for a hangover, when all was said and done.

"Good hangover cure, Doctor. You could make a fortune if you sold it," Fitz commented smugly. The Doctor stared at him.

"How on earth did you -- no, I don't want to know." He smiled. "A bit of mystery is good for a relationship, I've heard."

Fitz snorted. "Well then, we haven't got a worry in the world."

The Doctor shrugged into his coat and went over to the bed. "True. You won't forget what I told you?"

"I've got it," Fitz said. "Explosives, save reality, finish up in time for tea. I won't forget."

"Good." He stayed there for another moment, reluctant to leave.

"Doctor, you need to go now," said Fitz.

"Yes, I do," he replied, still gazing at him.

"Yes, you do. Because if you don't, I'm going to drag you back into bed and reality can go to hell. So, go. Get out of here. Right now."

Fitz was serious, he realised. It was frightening how tempted he was to stay.

" _Now_ , Doctor."

"I'm going," he said hastily. Fitz leaned up for a parting kiss, holding the back of his neck to keep him close. It was a wrench to step away.

"See you." Fitz's eyes gleamed at him.

"You will," he promised.

 

END


End file.
